Splintered Gates, page 16
The warehouse wasn’t just Lang’s base of operations. It was a targeting mechanism, the entire facility oriented around exploiting one specific vulnerability. My Scar.
I made my way back down through the abandoned building, processing what I’d seen. This wasn’t just a rogue practitioner operating against Agency protocols. This was something far more complex, with institutional involvement at levels I hadn’t anticipated.
The park where Nadia and I had agreed to meet was a fifteen-minute drive away. She was already waiting when I arrived, seated on a bench partially concealed by ornamental cherry trees.
“They’re working with Lang,” she said without preamble as I joined her. “Not against him.”
“I noticed.” I studied her expression. “The warehouse itself appears to be part of the network—but more than that. Lang has built a complete model of City Plaza. The exact layout, the specific location where I sealed the Seasonal Bridge.”
Nadia’s violet eyes widened. “A targeting mechanism.”
“Exactly. He’s not trying to build a new gateway. He’s building a crowbar.” I explained what I’d seen.
“That explains the precision of the network design,” she said slowly. “It’s not a general convergent gateway—it’s a surgical tool aimed at one specific weakness.”
“My weakness. The Scar I created when I thought I was solving the problem.”
“You were solving the problem,” Nadia countered. “You saved lives at City Plaza. What Lang is doing now—this obsessive reconstruction, this targeting of your specific seal—that’s not your fault. That’s his choice to corrupt what should have been a victory.”
I wanted to believe her. “He’s studied every aspect of what I did. That model isn’t approximate—it’s exact. He knows how I sealed the breach, where I applied pressure, which energy channels I used.”
“Then we use that against him.” Nadia’s voice firmed. “If Lang has become so focused on your specific seal, so obsessed with undoing your work, then his entire network has a single point of failure: you. The morph whose seal he’s trying to break.”
“You’re saying I should let him try?”
“I’m saying his obsession might blind him to other approaches. If his entire convergent gateway is engineered to tear open the City Plaza Scar, what happens if the energy signature of that seal suddenly changes? If the morphic frequencies he’s targeting no longer match what he’s designed his crowbar to exploit?”
It was an interesting theory, one that aligned with some of the countermeasures my father and I had discussed from my mother’s journal. If I could alter the fundamental resonance of the City Plaza seal, Lang’s carefully calibrated network might fail to connect properly.
“That would require me to return to City Plaza,” I said. “To modify the seal while Lang’s network is activating. Possibly while under direct attack from convergent gateway energies.”
“Difficult, but not impossible. Especially with support—a threadweaver to monitor the connection patterns, allies to disrupt the keystones while you work.” She met my eyes. “This is why your mother’s research paired morphs with threadweavers. Complementary abilities working in concert.”
“Rex mentioned your previous interactions with him were complicated,” I said, testing her reaction.
Her expression tightened briefly. “Information brokers and threadweavers have a complicated relationship by nature. We both trade in connections, but our methods are fundamentally different. Rex prefers tangible exchanges. I work with threads that can’t always be measured or contained.”
An answer that explained nothing—Nadia’s specialty.
“I recognized Lang,” I said, deciding to offer something in exchange for the information she’d been withholding. “He hired me years ago under a false identity to create containment modifications—the same ones now appearing in the summoning circles.”
Nadia went very still. “You’re certain it was him?”
“Positive. Called himself Dr. Liam Wilson, claimed to be researching energy conservation models. I designed systems for his research without any idea what they’d actually be used for.”
“That connection explains why the threads led me to you specifically.” She met my eyes. “It’s not just your abilities that make you relevant to this situation. You’re already woven into the network’s design. Your energy signature is embedded in its foundation.”
The implication settled over me like cold water. “You’re saying I’m not just a potential tool for disrupting the gateway. I’m part of it.”
“Part of its structure, yes. Which means disrupting it may require more from you than simple intervention.” She rose. “We should move.”
As we walked toward her SUV, I considered the tangled web of connections surrounding the convergent gateway network. Lang, the Agency, my father, Rex, Nadia, and myself—all linked through my mother’s research and the summoning circles now approaching completion.
Each participant held pieces of information they parceled out selectively, creating a fragmented picture that seemed deliberately obscured. The only certainty was that time was running short and whatever emerged through the completed gateway would change our reality in ways even the most informed among us might not fully understand.
Somewhere near the old water treatment plant, practitioners were likely already beginning preparatory work for tonight’s circle. And in that warehouse, Lang studied his model of City Plaza, refining his crowbar, preparing to tear open my seal.
But he hadn’t counted on Frank and Elizabeth Drexler’s son having access to their combined knowledge. Or on understanding that his targeting mechanism could become his greatest vulnerability.
If Lang wanted to tear open my seal, he’d have to get through me first. And I was done being an unwitting tool in anyone’s plans.
CHAPTER 13
“Trust your instincts when encountering entities that don’t quite fit established classifications. The most dangerous beings are those that exist in the margins between known categories.”—From “Identification Protocols for Nonstandard Entities,” Shamrock Disposal Agency field manual
The water treatment plant was a dead end. By the time Nadia and I arrived, the Agency had already secured the entire facility with a containment perimeter that would have taken specialized equipment to breach undetected. Whatever circle was supposed to be established there that night either had been prevented or had been deliberately misdirected information—a possibility that raised troubling questions about Nadia’s sources.
We observed from a distance long enough to confirm that both Mercer and Smith were on site, directing what appeared to be a standard containment operation. Alison moved efficiently among technical specialists, her focus suggesting they’d found something significant but not immediately threatening.
With no way to approach without detection and limited information to be gained from distant observation, we retreated to reassess our options. Nadia suggested continuing our conversation at a safehouse she maintained, but I declined, needing time to process everything I’d learned and make decisions without her immediate influence. She accepted my decision with surprising grace, though her parting words—”The convergence accelerates whether we’re prepared or not”—had carried an unmistakable warning.
Now, shortly after midnight, I sat at my kitchen table reviewing notes and diagrams spread across the surface. Marcus had joined me after his work at Alletech, bringing takeout and his analytical perspective. We’d compared my information from Rex with the pattern analysis Marcus had been developing, looking for vulnerabilities in the network design.
“If the warehouse is the control hub,” Marcus said, indicating the location on our map, “then disrupting it should theoretically destabilize the entire network.”
“Theoretically,” I agreed. “But Agency protection makes direct intervention nearly impossible. And if they’re actively working with Lang rather than just monitoring him...”
“Then they might consider any attempt to interfere as a hostile action against the Agency itself.” Marcus finished my thought. “Not ideal for your continued employment as a consultant.”
I rubbed my eyes, fatigue beginning to blur the diagrams I’d been studying. “There has to be another approach. Rex mentioned that Lang’s original design created temporary rather than permanent gateways. If we could modify the existing circles to revert to that earlier configuration...”
“We’d still have a convergent gateway opening between predatory realms and our reality,” Marcus pointed out. “Just for a limited time rather than indefinitely.”
“Limited damage is better than permanent collapse.” I traced the pattern linking the summoning sites. “And a temporary opening might be easier to seal completely once it’s formed.”
Marcus was about to respond when a sharp, urgent knocking came at my apartment door—not the casual rhythm of a neighbor or the authoritative pattern of Agency personnel, but erratic, almost desperate.
We exchanged glances, immediately alert. Visitors after midnight rarely brought good news, especially given recent events. I moved to the door cautiously, extending my senses to check for magical signatures while Marcus positioned himself out of direct line of sight, ready to provide backup if needed.
The knocking came again, weaker this time. I detected a magical presence on the other side of the door, but it was distorted somehow—fluctuating between patterns in a way I’d never encountered before.
“Who’s there?” I called, one hand reaching for my pocket knife.
“Help... please.” The voice was male, strained with what sounded like pain. “Lang sent me... need... protection.”
The mention of Lang’s name escalated the situation from suspicious to potentially critical. I signaled to Marcus to stay ready, then carefully opened the door, maintaining a defensive posture.
A man—or what appeared to be a man—slumped against the doorframe, barely remaining upright. He was of average height with nondescript features that seemed oddly fluid, as though not quite settled into a final form. His clothing—a simple button-down shirt and slacks—showed signs of a struggle, torn in several places and stained with what looked like frost rather than blood.
Most disturbing were his arms, visible where the shirt had been torn away. The skin was covered in what appeared to be ice-like burns, crystalline structures forming and then partially melting in a continuous cycle of destruction and attempted regeneration.
“Please,” he gasped, his eyes flickering between normal human appearance and something else—something with a golden, inhuman glow. “They’re coming.”
I made a split-second decision and pulled him inside, closing and locking the door behind him. As Marcus helped me guide the stranger to the couch, I activated the basic protection wards I maintained around my apartment—nothing as sophisticated as my father’s systems, but sufficient to discourage casual magical intrusion.
“Who’s coming?” I demanded as our visitor collapsed onto the couch, his breathing labored. “And who are you?”
“Matthew,” he managed, grimacing as another crystalline formation spread across his forearm before partially receding. “Lang’s... assistant. They found out... what he’s really doing.”
Marcus had already retrieved my emergency medical kit—a specialized collection of both conventional first aid supplies and magical remedies for various supernatural injuries. “These burns aren’t normal,” he observed, examining the crystalline formations without touching them. “Some kind of magical backlash?”
“Boundary... rejection,” Matthew gasped. “Tried to cross... too soon. Not... stable yet.”
I recognized the phenomenon from Agency case files. Interdimensional transit attempts through insufficiently stabilized portals could result in similar injuries, the body rejecting the foreign dimensional energies like a failed organ transplant. But those cases involved humans trying to cross between realms. Matthew’s ongoing cycle of injury and partial healing suggested something different.
“You’re not human,” I said. “At least, not entirely.”
A flicker of wariness crossed his features before pain overwhelmed it. “Help first... questions later. Please.”
He was right. Whatever his nature, the immediate priority was treating his injuries before they progressed beyond recovery. I turned to the medical kit, selecting components for a stabilization poultice while Marcus prepared a containment field to isolate the dimensional energies causing the ongoing damage.
“This will hurt,” I warned, mixing herbs and minerals with a binding agent. “But it should halt the rejection cycle long enough for your natural healing to take effect.”
Matthew nodded weakly, bracing himself. As I applied the poultice to the crystalline burns, he hissed in pain but didn’t pull away. The mixture began to steam as it contacted the icelike formations, creating a temporary barrier between the foreign energies and his fluctuating physiology.
“That should hold for a few hours,” I said, watching as the crystalline formations gradually stopped their expansion–recession cycle. “Now, explain what you meant about Lang and what he’s really doing. And while you’re at it, clarify exactly what you are, because those aren’t normal human responses to boundary rejection.”
Matthew’s breathing had steadied somewhat, though pain still tightened his features. “Not what Lang told the Agency,” he said, his voice stronger now. “Not temporary research portals. Permanent. And specifically targeted—he’s using the network to force open the City Plaza seal. The Scar you created.”
He looked directly at me. “Lang has been planning this since the moment you created that seal. Every circle, every modification, every component—it’s all designed to tear open what you closed.”
“We already figured that much out,” Marcus said. “But we didn’t realize it was this targeted. You’re saying the entire network is essentially a weapon aimed at Cal’s specific seal?”
“Yes.” Matthew grimaced as another crystalline formation started to spread before the poultice stopped it. “The warehouse has a complete reconstruction of the City Plaza breach. Lang studies it constantly, analyzing every aspect of how you sealed it, looking for weaknesses. The convergent gateway isn’t just about opening multiple realms—it’s about using them as leverage to crack open one specific point.”
This contradicted our understanding of the network’s timeline. Based on the pattern analysis and Nadia’s information, we’d estimated at least one more circle needed to be established before the network could be activated.
“Why are you telling us this?” I asked, suspicion rising. “You’re Lang’s assistant. Why betray his operation now?”
A bitter smile crossed Matthew’s face, momentarily distorting his features in a way that emphasized their unnatural fluidity. “Not betrayal. Preservation. Lang changed the design. Original plan allowed controlled passage. New version... consumes the guides.”
“Guides?” Marcus asked.
“Beings like me,” Matthew explained, gesturing to his injured arms. “Boundary walkers. We help stabilize transition points between realms. Lang’s original design incorporated our abilities as regulators. New version sacrifices us as fuel.”
Which meant I wasn’t the key to this whole thing. Maybe I’d never been.
But I could be the key to stopping it.
As he spoke, his control over his human appearance slipped further, revealing glimpses of his true nature—skin occasionally shifting to a pale green hue, joints bending at angles that would be impossible for human anatomy, eyes flashing gold in moments of particular emotion.
“You’re a shapeshifter,” I realized. “But not fae or demonic in origin.”
“Older classification,” he confirmed. “From when boundaries were more... permeable. Few of us remain. Lang found me decades ago, promised partnership in regulated boundary research.”
A faint tapping at the window interrupted our conversation. Thilly had returned, her tiny form darting agitatedly outside the glass. I crossed to let her in, and she zoomed into the apartment in a state of obvious distress.
“Bad magic! Bad magic coming!” she chirped frantically before noticing Matthew on the couch. She froze in midair, her glow fluctuating between her normal blue-green and a wary yellow as she stared at our visitor.
“Old-walker,” she whispered, using a term I’d never heard before. “Dangerous! But hurt? Why hurt?”
She darted closer to Matthew, her initial fear giving way to curiosity. Matthew watched her with equal interest, something like recognition in his expression.
“Sprite-kind remembers us,” he said softly. “When others forgot.”
Thilly circled him cautiously, her tiny features scrunched in concentration. “Not bad-cold like fae, not bad-hot like demons. Different-old. Why here?”
“Circles closing.” Matthew repeated his warning. “Need help to stop.”
The sprite darted back to me, hovering anxiously near my face. “He speaks true-words, Cal. Old-walkers don’t lie like fae-cold. But dangerous still! Careful!”
Her assessment aligned with my own instincts. Matthew’s warning seemed genuine, but his nature and connection to Lang made him an uncertain ally at best. The question now was what to do with him—and his information about the network activating tonight rather than after another circle was established.
“I should report this to the Agency,” I said, considering options. “If the activation is happening tonight, they need to know they’re focusing on the wrong location.”
“Agency’s compromised,” Matthew said sharply. “Some know Lang’s true plan. Others deceived. Can’t tell which is which.”
“Mercer?” I asked, thinking of her involvement at Lang’s warehouse.
“Unclear. Compartmentalized information. Different personnel know different aspects.” Matthew struggled to sit up straighter, wincing as the movement disturbed his injured arms. “Need to disrupt keystones directly. Only way to prevent full convergence.”
